


the first time i heard your voice

by xxSteggie



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: !!!!!!!!, F/F, Multi, Polyamory, here it is, this took me So Long but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 21:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8176576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSteggie/pseuds/xxSteggie
Summary: for the great fic exchange!prompt: natasha/helene/mary realizing that they're all in love with each otherthis prompt was left by rydian/danatole on tumblr so this is for xer :0





	

**Author's Note:**

> for the great fic exchange!  
> prompt: natasha/helene/mary realizing that they're all in love with each other  
> this prompt was left by rydian/danatole on tumblr so this is for xer :0

**NATASHA AND HELENE.**

While Natasha stares at Anatole, Helene stares at Natasha.

The opera is almost over, and Helene is certain that Natasha Rostova will be coming her way to exit the theater. The thought makes her happy. _So beautiful, what a charming young girl; so enchanting…_ Helene thinks to herself, although she can’t fathom why everyone else in all of Moscow wouldn’t be thinking the same thing.

After the opera ends, Natasha turns her head. She feels one more pair of eyes on her than what is usual. Casually glancing down from the box, she flushes scarlet. She had seen this woman before. Their eyes lock. _Oh, that neck… Oh, those pearls…_ she thinks, her admiration of the other evident by her eyes wide and wondering.

As Natasha exits the box, she realizes that she will be passing this woman. _Helene_ , she remembers. That was her name. When she was announced, Natasha stared at her for almost as long as she stared at Anatole. As their paths intersect, Natasha tells herself that her whole body is red from the cold.

While Marya chats with Helene, Natasha can’t help but notice how Helene’s eyes never seem to stay fully on her godmother.

After their chat is over, Marya leans in close to Natasha and Sonya. “Now there’s a woman one should stay _far away_ from,” she says with a snarky yet playful tone. Sonya giggles. Natasha risks a glance behind her. She has always obeyed her godmother, but she feels a small bite of rebellion nagging in her chest.

~

 _Had Natasha blushed when she looked at me?_ Helene wonders at home. She was remembering more about that Rostova girl than about the opera, much to her dismay. So naturally, when Anatole asks her to ask Natasha to come to the ball, she all but runs out the door. Although she knows that this scheme will ruin both her brother and the girl, as most things involving Anatole do, she wants to see where the plan will take her. And despite herself, she find that she wouldn’t mind being in Anatole’s place. Everyone loves him. Even Natasha. Is that what she wants, but for herself?

~

“I will come,” Natasha says.

She had flushed when she saw Helene walk in the door; her eyes never left her. Helene was stunning, to say the least. She was powerful. She made herself known wherever she went. She was proud to be who she was. She was the queen of society. And although her French skills were lacking, Natasha liked her.

“Oh, I’m glad!” Helene smiles in response, trying to hide the pleasure in her voice. She gazes at Natasha. Natasha gazes back.

They stay like that for a while.

“Shall we?” Helene asks awkwardly, breaking the silence. She offers Natasha her hand. It’s sweaty.

Natasha clears her throat and tears her gaze from Helene. “Yes, of course,” she responds with a small grin. She takes Helene’s hand gently.

They walk hand-in-hand to the ball. They talk lightly, breaking the ice and telling jokes.

“So, what’s Anatole like?” Natasha asks. Helene tries to make it seem like she isn’t dreading arriving at their destination.

“He’s…. Unique,” Helene answers after a beat of silence. “Very….. Oh, how shall I say it. Flamboyant?”

Natasha giggles in response and gives a slight nod. Even though she hasn’t known Anatole for very long, she can tell that he is confident. She squeezes Helene’s hand. “And what about you? Describe yourself like Anatole would.”

It takes Helene less than a second to respond. “A bitch.”

Natasha laughs.

 It’s nothing like Helene has ever seen.

Natasha’s eyes scrunch and her face lights up and she tilts her head back and it’s like watching a sunrise only a million times better. Natasha is light. She is vibrant and blinding. She is the reflection of the moonlight on the snow.

After she’s caught her breath, Natasha says, “Now, that is quite possibly the biggest lie I have ever been told.” She gives Helene’s shoulder a playful nudge. “From what I have seen, you are quite _charmante.“_

Helene stops walking. She looks at the ground and swallows, fighting heat rising to her face. She gives Natasha a small glance and a smile, and takes a small step forward. _One foot in front of the other_ , she reminds herself. _Right. Left._ Natasha seems to make her forget things. (Like how to speak basic French.)

 _Inhale. Exhale. Breathe._ They continue walking in silence.

When they arrive at the ball, they stand outside the door for a few seconds, looking at it and at each other.

 They are both reluctant to let go.

**NATASHA AND MARY.**

The first time that Natasha encounters Mary Bolkonsya, she does not like her. Or perhaps she is simply in denial. She isn’t sure.

Mary is plain, that much is certain. But Natasha likes it. She likes Mary’s simple movements and simple voice. How even though her situation is grim, she smiles at her. How even though Natasha can hear Mary’s father yelling from outside the house, she still cares for him. And even though Natasha is certain that Mary does not like her, she isn’t certain that she feels the same way. Mary was lovely; her braided hair perfectly framed her face. Her soft voice was soothing and reminded Natasha vaguely of Andrey. In fact, Mary reminded Natasha of her fiancé. They were both proper and poised, respectful and noble. Although at a glance Mary seems dry, so did Andrey. Natasha keeps this in mind.

She carries on with her day. She talks to Anatole. She is frightened, but she doesn’t show it.

She thinks of Mary. To her surprise, she feels a little better.

~

 _“Oh,” Mary had forced out. Her throat was tight and it was hard to breathe. “Oh, h-hello. Won’t you come in?” The end of the phrase had went up, as if it were a question. Heat had risen to Mary’s face as she looked at the semi-familiar face of her brother’s betrothed. She was stunning to say the least; almost_ too _good to be true. Almost like she was faking it. Yes, she_ had _to be. There was_ no way _that someone could look_ that _good. But yet, she managed to do it. Her cheeks had been slightly pink from the chill (or maybe something else—Mary wasn’t sure) and everything about her had been just right. Mary liked things just right. Everything had a place and every place had a thing. Maybe that was why she cleaned the whole house. Maybe that was why Natasha seemed too good; she wasn’t something that Mary had perfected._

She starts. Shaking herself from her reverie, Mary (once again) tells herself that she does not like Natasha. (She _can’t_ like Natasha. That’s a job saved for Andrey and Marya D. and Sonya and everyone else in the city of Moscow.) She had been sincere when telling the other that she was happy for her and Andrey. But she knows that whenever someone else is happy, she is not. It's just how it is. And deep down, she knows that it would never work. Her father, the Bible, her brother's love for the girl—

Mary was never invited anywhere. Why would Natasha be the one who changed that? She doesn’t even know why she gave it a thought. Shaking her head slightly, Mary sits down at her kitchen table, making sure to not make a single sound on account of her father. She rests her head on her hand and sighs.

She remembers Natasha vaguely from before this encounter; a quick in-and-out with Andrey was frequent. She had always kept her distance, leaving her brother to the girl. She was happy for them. Her brother was leading a happy life. _Good for him_ , she thinks. _Better for me to be stuck here than him. At least he has reasons to go out. Or, had. Has?_

She stands up. _A letter,_ she thinks. She rarely writes to anyone anymore. (Who would she write to anyway?) There’s a kind of clarity for her when she finishes writing something, although she can’t explain why. When she has finished gathering her supplies, she returns to her seat and lets her hand glide across the paper. She doesn’t proof-read it. 

~

 _"I cannot help loving you."_  


Natasha tries not to read into the phrase. But she vividly remembers the first time that she saw Mary. For a few seconds she forgot about Andrey. For a few seconds their eyes found each other. For a few seconds after she ripped her eyes away from Mary's, they wandered up and down the other and liked what they saw. For a few seconds she thought that she could be happy.

When Natasha had stopped by to see Andrey, she had seen Mary puttering around the home. She tried to catch her eye, but Mary was good at avoiding things. She enjoyed just watching Mary; she was graceful and she knew what she was doing (or, at least, that’s how it appeared). She was fascinating; she was similar to Andrey yet entirely different. Mary was shy and Andrey was confident, but they both knew who they were. They were both observant. They were both stunning. And they both felt like somewhere safe, like home—

Natasha is done telling herself that she doesn't like Mary.

~

_"I can't be Andrey's wife."_

When Mary reads the words, she is dumbfounded. She was certain that the girl and her brother were meant to be. Their relationship was perfect and heartbreaking—girl meets boy, they fall in love, boy leaves girl behind for a greater cause.  


Mary had seen how Natasha looked at her. She had analyzed Natasha in a second. Or, rather, she had tried to. Natasha was a unique specimen; she radiates moonlight and stardust. She electrifies any room that she enters. She wore her heart on her sleeve but kept it under lock and key. She showed emotion but not enough to show her true feelings.  
  
From the first glance Mary had not liked Natasha. So why couldn't she think of a bad thing to say?  
  
_But I could be yours_ , she thinks, looking at the letter again.

           

**MARY AND HELENE.**

On her way to the Rostova’s home, Helene passes by the Bolkonsky’s. She had heard the rumors of how the home was; who hadn’t? Everyone in Moscow knows of Old Prince Bolkonsky, the loud old man who was less than normal. But people enjoyed him. Helene didn’t know why, and she didn’t plan on finding out.

That is, until she saw a girl meekly stepping outside with a broom. Glancing around, the girl began to sweep the walkway leading up to the door of the house. She looked relieved to be outside.

Helene slows her walking pace a little bit. She keeps the girl in the side of her vision, and then sees the girl look at her. She turns her full gaze onto the other.

~

Mary’s heart drops to her feet. She hadn’t been expecting Helene Kuragina to look back at her, but she had. She just did.

She just—oh. _Oh_. Mary forces her gaze back onto the walkway in front of her and turns around. _Did she see my face turn red? I hope not. Oh, this is terrible—_

She stops herself. Reminds herself that she is _outside_ , not in _There_ anymore. He can’t hurt her out here.

What if she left?

That would be bold (like Helene). But Mary wasn’t sure if anything was as bold as Helene was. Although they have never spoken, everyone knows about Helene Kuragina. Mary has heard her father gossiping with guests; “ _Did you see her with Dolokhov? Did you see that outfit she had on at the opera? Did you see those pearls?”_

It was always _“Did you see…?”_ And for Mary, the answer is no.  

She thinks that she wants that to change.

~

Mary turns around and Helene continues walking (despite a small, weary part of her brain that has only ever been active around Natasha before this moment).

She isn’t sure why.

Helene is bold; everyone knows that much at least. She isn’t afraid to show who she is. She isn’t afraid of the cold glares from those who disapprove. She isn’t afraid of anyone.

But she is afraid of what Natasha and Mary seem to do to her. They make her conscious of her entire self, her entire being, and even her thoughts because _oh God what if they can read them and know what I’m thinking?_ They make her want to be someone more, someone more than just Anatole’s sister. Someone more than a name, a family, a title. Someone better. And although she has only seen each of them once or twice, she wants to see them again.

**NATASHA AND MARY AND HELENE.**

Helene and Mary both have cold hands. Natasha’s are warm. And for the first time since he left, Natasha is no longer worried about Andrey coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> pls Ignore that fact that i cannot write nat or helene lmao anyway !!!!!!!!!!!  
> come yell with me on tumblr ! @ghostquartet


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